My Purgatory
by ABoxOfMacaronsPlease
Summary: Things seemed well enough at first, until her death. Stricken with grief, Ryoji just didn't know how to cope. Being a worker at a liquor store barely managed to get him and his child by. But Haruhi seemed to be the only comforting thing to him, and his daughter's sorrow was enough to snap him out of his daze. It was a very sad time for him. One-shot


**A/N: Hey-hey! It's good to release another story for you all again! In "My Purgatory", it accompanies and follows the story of my other one-shot, "My Nirvana". This time, however, it's more focused on Haruhi's cool dad, Ryoji (or Ranka)! This story is also the second installment of my miniseries, _This is Our Story_****, which focused on parts of the lives of the Fujioka family. But if you want, this can remain as a stand-alone (like "My Nirvana"). I hope you enjoy this! :)**

**P.S. The next part of _This is Our Story_ is called "Two is Already a Crowd".**

**Edit (02/22/2019): Guess what! "Two is Already a Crowd" is finally out, to those who were following the _This is Our Story _installments before this edit was made.**

**Disclaimer: Ouran High School Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori.**

* * *

Occupying Ryoji's hands were two bowls of soup; the bowls were warm and steaming with the faint smell of meat and seasoning. The quality of the soup was mediocre, but palatable enough to suffice for the only two occupants in the Fujioka residence, as the third—and also the better cook of the family—was in a building filled with medication and sterile equipment.

"Haruhi!" called Ryoji, placing the bowls on the table. "It's time for dinner!"

Moments later the four-year-old girl walked to where her father stood, a thick book in hand.

"You really should relax more, Haruhi," Ryoji remarked, eyeing the book. "Stressing yourself too much won't do you good."

"I have to," was the brunette girl's response, "so I could be someone Mom would be proud of."

"She's already proud of you, sweetie. Every single day she knows her efforts of raising you weren't wasted." The two residents settled themselves—but not before Haruhi decided to return the book to her room—and started to eat.

"Thank you for the food," Haruhi mumbled, taking a spoonful of soup.

"Don't you ever forget this, Haruhi. Your mother is proud of you, and she wouldn't want you to be so down all the time. You're a good girl and both your mother and I know that. So look on the brighter side, okay?"

A small smile broke out from the girl's lips.

"Okay, Dad."

* * *

Positive words were enough to temporarily placate a little girl, but sometimes they were mere dots compared to the strength of an obscure disease that knew not of emotion and morality.

In a hospital bed laid Kotoko, and her husband, Ryoji, stood wearily beside her.

Ryoji had to work harder than ever, due to the fact that his wife was out of commission, and also considering the extra mouth he had to feed.

"Why didn't you rest?" Kotoko's brows were furrowed as the question escaped her mouth.

"I couldn't," answered Ryoji. "I simply can't leave my wife at the clutches of those scary doctors."

His wife laughed weakly at his attempt of a joke.

"Thank you," she said, and Kotoko held his wife's hand.

"Anything, my love."

_A wail echoed across the room, signalling the two parents to answer their child's call._

_"Oh, will you look at that, Kotoko?" cooed Ryoji, his eyes on the baby in the crib. "Our little Haruhi looks absolutely adorable!"_

_Kotoko slapped his arm._

_"She does not! Not when she needs our help!"_

_The brunette lifted their daughter and cradled her, soothing her with kind words. It didn't take long for the infant to be lulled to sleep by her mother's gentle voice._

"_That never ceases to amaze me," Ryoji whispered as his wife settled the two-month-old baby back in the crib. Kotoko pecked his cheek._

"_I've had her growing in me for almost nine months, Ryoji."_

_Ryoji chuckled, a genuine smile on his lips. Good times were coming, especially for his newly formed family. He just knew it._

* * *

"_Kotoko! Kotoko, stay with me!" shouted a frantic Ryoji, cradling his unconscious wife._

_It was all so sudden. One moment Kotoko was a happy woman cooking something for lunch, and the next she was lying unresponsively on the floor. Fortunately Ryoji was also there in the kitchen to call for an ambulance, and thankfully Haruhi was at a friend's house instead of witnessing something traumatically spontaneous happen to her mother._

_The ambulance came in a few seemingly slow minutes, paramedics rushing into the Fujioka residence and transferring the unresponsive woman onto a gurney. An unconscious Kotoko and a panicking Ryoji were immediately rushed to the hospital, the former in dire need of the doctors' attention._

Of course, of course, _thought Ryoji, pacing about the hall outside of the room where his wife was. _Things were so good. Too good, in fact.

_Their daughter was kind and obedient—in fact she aspired to be just as great as her mother one day—Kotoko was a great wife and mother, and also made good pay out of her career as a renowned lawyer; and Ryoji was—well, a good father and diligent worker, despite his low pay as an employee at a nearby liquor store. Never the less, they were one happy family._

_Then the main provider for the family was hospitalized, jeopardizing the state of the family of three._

"_Haruhi would be traumatized," muttered Ryoji, still quite antsy. _Or confused, considering her age.

_Hours later, Ryoji stood by Kotoko. Haruhi's stay was lengthened, so as to not arise suspicion out of he four-year-old; but either way she would find out sooner or later. The doctors tried all they could, but came up with no solution—a known, one, that is._

"_We're terribly sorry, sir," apologized one of the doctors. "But we can't come up with a specific diagnosis that is affecting your wife. We might have to take a closer look into her condition before prognosis._

_Ryoji sighed._

"_It's all right. Thank you."_

Ryoji had a tight and firm hold on Kotoko's hand, anticipating the worse. It had come to a point that Kotoko was, to put it bluntly, dying. What was equally worse was that there were no means to save her; her ailment was simply too obscure with little to no information.

Haruhi left to play with the nurse, oblivious to her mother's evanescing life force. The hospitalized woman's breaths were gradually becoming shallower with each weak rise and fall of her chest. Tears spilled down Ryoji's cheeks.

"Don't go. Please, don't go . . ."

Time was slow, and all too silent.

Some time had passed after Haruhi and the nurse were excused from the room. Deep down, Ryoji had a feeling that Haruhi somehow knew of her mother's state—something akin to a gut feeling. Her four-year-old mind just couldn't acknowledge such a mature and foreign topic.

Alas, as time continued its flow, life had to shift for change and continue as well. This was the case with the Fujiokas. As Kotoko heaved her last, short breath, she whispered two simple words.

"I'm glad." The monitor progressed into a flat line.

Ryoji sobbed into his now-deceased wife's lifeless hand. Meanwhile somewhere outside the room was Haruhi, most likely still being supervised by some of the hospital staff.

* * *

It certainly didn't take long till Haruhi found out. That was when they had to continue moving down their hike through life.

Once upon a gloomy—albeit sunny—day, there were two certain people dressed in black; mourning the loss of a beloved wife and mother.

Haruhi's face was blank and tearless, most likely because she still couldn't quite process what had recently transpired. Ryoji, on the other hand, was a different case. As he clutched his daughter's tiny hand, his other free one was rested over his eyes—fingers making an attempt to block the tears that streamed in endless rivers.

There were other people present, too. The few relatives that weren't too bothered by Kotoko and Ryoji's sudden union, some friends dating back to high school and spanning all the way up to adulthood, and even those who admired Kotoko as the great lawyer she was; all gathered around the two mournful Fujioka members with equally morose expressions.

Ryoji's pain was indescribable, and by indescribable it was also a type of pain that was . . . immeasurable.

He had admired and been with others in the past—most of which were men, being one who oriented towards both sexes—but none could compare to the love he shared with Kotoko Fujioka, the one woman whom he married and had a child with. To keep their relationship sacrosanct, she would be the only woman to have fully claimed Ryoji's heart. The twenty-four-year-old man would ensure it.

"I won't ever be able to see Mom again?" was Haruhi's question several minutes ago, to which he answered by tightening his grip on his daughter's hand—sometimes words weren't required to provide the answer.

"Dad?" called Haruhi, silently. Ryoji wiped his tear-stricken face and glanced at his daughter.

"What is it, dear?"

"What now?" Her question had several meanings, but Ryoji's answer was quite simple. It could mean the shattering of Haruhi's fragile little heart, but it was very much true.

"I don't know."

Minutes later the other funeral attendees started to leave, one by one; each giving their condolences to the family of two. It certainly wasn't one happy day for the two remaining Fujiokas.

* * *

He had to work hard before, but ever since Kotoko's death he worked himself to the brink of near collapse. He was stricken with grief, and he needed to provide for both himself and his five-year-old daughter—both reasons being why he constantly worked.

Haruhi's birthday recently passed by, and unfortunately went uncelebrated. The only thing that came out of it was a book given to her by Ryoji as a present. Both father and daughter were simply too preoccupied to host a proper party, but the birthday girl didn't mind.

This was also the time during which Haruhi started to drift towards independence, gradually isolating herself from dependence on her father. Ryoji took notice of this and though he may have been busy and crushed from the recent loss of his wife, he still didn't waste any time doting on his beloved daughter. Haruhi was very young, and she didn't deserve to mature much earlier than other girls her age. She was Ryoji's little sunshine amidst the dark, stormy sky; whereas he was the fork that helped Haruhi scoop what she normally couldn't handle on her plate—especially when the going got tough. In some ways, they relied on each other, despite one of them seeking independence at such a young age.

They had become one broken family, and Ryoji could only hope things would look up eventually.

* * *

He wanted to honour her, and the job offer was a good way to leave no stains—to keep the only relationship with a woman sacred.

Ryoji accepted it, and so he began the next day working at a gay bar. It was the perfect way he could earn some more money—it was better and had a slightly higher pay compared to his former job at the liquor store, improving his family's monetary stability—and at the same time maintain his interests without tarnishing his wife's golden love that enveloped his heart. The bar needed more workers as well, and Ryoji had fit its requirements.

One of those requirements was cross-dressing. Ryoji was glad that he chose to keep some of Kotoko's belongings, some of which were makeup sets and feminine clothing. This was the start of Ryoji's life as a tranny, going under the alias of "Ranka", a name he chose on the second day of his job.

At first Haruhi was befuddled, but in the end she accepted it. She was nearing nine years old, and Ryoji was glad to have raised his and Kotoko's daughter well; Haruhi grew too be just as independent as her mother, but he had a feeling it would also be her weakness.

Every day they would gather around Kotoko's shrine, and they would speak to her before leaving to attend to their own daily routine.

Things were slowly getting better, but it would still take some time before the wounds were fully mended.

Though they each showed their own form of independence, they still relied on each other in some way. Ryoji would help Haruhi with some of her trauma. One of the few things Ryoji regretted was not being able to help Haruhi overcome her only known fear: the wrath of thunder and lightning.

* * *

Ryoji screeched like a wailing banshee the moment his eyes landed on his fifteen-year-old daughter's monstrosity of a haircut.

"H-Haruhi!" He pointed a shaky finger towards his daughter's new hairstyle. Her once beautiful and long brown hair was now an egregious sight—a style seemingly more suitable for a boy. All his hard work, constantly maintaining his cute, little girl's hair for years: gone!

"I'm heading out to school now. I'll see you later, Dad," said the teenaged girl, before exiting the apartment complex.

Combined with the vintage glasses and overly loose outfit, the new hairstyle completely ravaged his daughter's look. Ryoji slumped down the wall with a sigh. He looked at the shrine that displayed a photo of his deceased wife.

"My love in heaven," he began, "please watch over our precious little girl. She's grown so much, but she can't depend only on herself for too long. May her stay in Ouran bring her much happiness and further guidance to her dreams."

Kotoko's smile looked as if it was increasing, but then again it might've simply been the light playing tricks on Ryoji's eyes.


End file.
